


That's Me in the Corner, That's Me in the Spotlight

by knittycat99



Category: Camp (2003), Glee
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Gratuitous Quoting from '80's Movies, Homophobic Language, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Summer Camp, brief mentions of self harm, musical theater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:22:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a difficult junior year in high school, Kurt Hummel is ecstatic to be back at his summer home, Allegheny Theater Festival.  He expects nine weeks of fun and hard work, but the past year has taken its toll.  Noah Puckerman is the New Kid at Allegheny.  An accidental actor, Noah attracts attention all over camp, but refuses to let anyone get too close.  When Noah and Kurt are cast opposite each other in The Normal Heart, everything changes.  As they grow closer, all the parts of their lives they've been trying to forget are suddenly staring them down every day in rehearsal.  Living out fear and pain onstage may be great for their acting, but it might break them both in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Me in the Corner, That's Me in the Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for this story came from the 2003 movie Camp as well as Mickey Lapkin's excellent book Theater Geek, a behind-the-scenes look at a camp similar to the one portrayed here.
> 
> Thanks to nubianamy for the beta.
> 
> Patchfire made me an awesome fanmix and cover art, which can be found [here](http://patchfire.livejournal.com/770438.html)

**Prologue: Prom**

Kurt fiddled with the pleats on his kilt, more as an excuse to dry his sweaty palms than because there was anything wrong with his outfit. He pulled his ticket from the pocket of his coat and stood up a little taller, grateful for the heel on his boots that made him walk like he was on a runway. _Confidence_ , he thought to himself as he approached the ticket table. _You look fierce and fabulous, you’re going to rock this prom._ He didn’t speak as he held his ticket out to the assistant principal. Mr. Angelo shared a Look with Ms. Bateman and snatched Kurt’s ticket away before shaking his head and pointing toward the double exit doors.

“We can’t let you in like that. It violates the dress code. Either change or go home.”

Kurt tipped his chin up to keep the tears off his face until he was outside, but he didn't go home. He sat on the bench outside of the gym listening to the music and the laughter, to the crowning of King and Queen. _You’re so stupid,_ his brain chanted over and over. _You should have listened to Dad. Stupid kilt, stupid prom, none of them are worth your time._

The exterior gym door squeaked open and footsteps crunched over the twigs and pebbles that littered the ground.

“Oh, look, it’s the poor sad faggot,” a voice crowed. “Dudes, he’s wearing a fucking _dress_.”

Of course it was Azimio and his lemmings, the worst of his tormentors. Kurt rose to his feet, teetering a little in his boots. “It’s a _kilt_ , not a dress,” he said, trying to keep his voice cold and distant. “Not that I’d expect any of you to know the difference.” He ran his eyes up and down Karofsky’s body; Karofsky was the worst of all of them, but Kurt knew his secret. He’d caught him staring too long at too hard at more than one guy in halls and locker rooms since they’d been in middle school. He sniffed. “Rented tux. Or maybe borrowed?” It was a low and easy dig, and one that hurt in this place where the growing chasm between prosperity and poverty grew wider every year.

He heard Karofsky’s arm disrupting the air around him before he felt the punch land, square on his cheekbone just under his left eye. _That’s gonna bruise,_ he thought, blinking tears and trying to duck out of the way. Only someone else had other ideas, and Kurt caught the heel of his boot on a slick dress shoe. It didn’t take much, one more punch to his jaw and he was falling. The cement was cool under his back; he tried to curl onto his side when movement flickered in his blurry peripheral vision, but he was too slow. He heard the kicks more than he felt them, thuds that echoed his heartbeat. He stopped fighting back, just went limp, and eventually the thrill of the attack wore off; he listened to the boys head back inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up. Instead, he just lay there and looked up at the stars. The ones overhead were the same as the ones at camp, and for the first time all year he felt safe.

**

“Come on, man, I thought you had big plans to spike the punch.” Finn tipped his chair up onto the back legs and Puck winced. Finn’s balance was shit, and he could just picture him falling backwards and cracking his head on the gym floor.

“Nah, changed my mind. Wasn’t worth it. Not if Lucy’s finally gonna let me get into her pants.” His stomach flip-flopped at the lie; he still didn’t know _why_ he kept telling Finn he was into Lucy; the play had been over for weeks already, it would have been really easy to tell the truth about all of it. But then he’d have to explain where he was really going for the summer, and why he hadn’t dated since Gina Hernandez sophomore year. Why he hadn’t dated anyone at all since other people walked out of the hospital in Pittsburgh with his and Gina’s baby girl. Why he’d been so angry since seeing the news on Sunday morning that he still couldn’t swallow down the rage and the tears that were a knot in his throat.

He’d never looked forward to being away from home before, not even the summer he and Finn went to Scout camp, right after his dad left. But now, maybe getting away and forgetting all about the world for nine weeks was the best thing he’d never really wanted. Getting to act, all day every day? Being around kids who got the way it felt, up on a stage? Fuck, he was going to cherish every minute of it.

 

**Session 1**

Kurt was curled up on his bed, paging through sheet music with no real interest and talking with Jesse and Mike while they unpacked. Jesse set a framed black and white picture of Patty LuPone on the dresser next Kurt’s dècoupaged collage of the original cast of Rent and Mike’s shrine to Michael Bennett.

“Bless the holy trinity,” Jesse said with a wicked grin and a half-assed sign of the cross. “May we live up to their legacies.”

He was interrupted by a scream from the hall, and Kurt barely had time to brace himself before Tina was up on his bed, hugging him so hard he couldn't breathe.

“You weren't on the bus,” she said, smacking him gently on the shoulder. He held his breath instead of wincing as she caught one of his worst hidden bruises.

“Yeah, my dad drove me. He's a little overprotective.” He stroked the most prominent magenta streak in her hair with one finger. “My role model for all things alternative. I thought you had to go to Asian Camp this summer.”

“My parents compromised. If I take calculus and Mandarin online and finish two SAT prep books I can stay the whole summer.”

“Oh, man, that sucks.” He turned his head, frowned at Tina, and was surprised at her gasp.

“Honey, what happened to your face?”

Kurt had almost forgotten. The guys both knew, he'd met them both for coffee in Columbus the week after prom.

“Girlfriend decided to go to junior prom solo and in a kilt,” Jesse said.

Mike dangled one long leg over the side of his bunk and kicked Jesse on the shoulder. Kurt ignored them and focused on filling Tina in.

“The jock brigade beat the shit out of me after the assistant principal wouldn't let me in.”

“Those assholes. At least you went to your prom. I stayed home with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and the remake of _Fame_.”

“Same,” Jesse said with a nod. “Well, it was a marathon of _Gypsy_ , but still.”

“I went to mine,” Mike added, softly. “It wasn’t so bad, but my mom was all freaked out that my date was white. I mean, what does she expect? It’s not like Ohio is brimming with Asian girls, and even if it were, most of them wouldn’t want to go to prom with a guy who also likes guys.”

Kurt wasn’t blind. He caught the way Tina flicked her eyes toward Mike from under the fall of her hair.

“You never said . . .” Tina started, but trailed off. And that was what Kurt loved about camp, that everyone could just be who they were and nobody cared.

“Dudes.” Movement in their doorway made everyone look up. “I hope this is 233, but I’m staying even if it’s not. I think I scared the shit out of some little girls downstairs. Someone thought it would be funny to send me to the girl’s floor.”

“Evan,” everyone chorused.

Kurt tried not to stare as the guy pushed his duffle bag forward with a sneakered foot. “Evan’s the camp jokester,” Kurt explained, and then held his hand out. “I’m Kurt, this is Tina, and that’s Mike and Jesse.”

“Puck.” He shook Kurt’s hand and acknowledged the rest of them with a push of his chin. “Noah Puckerman, really, but everyone at home calls me Puck.”

“Puck.” Kurt watched him set a football and a mitt folded around a baseball on the last empty corner of dresser, and when he stood up with a toiletries kit and asked for the bathroom, Kurt pointed silently.

Tina smacked him. “Three foot rule,” she said.

“Three foot rule?” Jesse stared at them both.

Tina smirked. “Kurt has to stay three feet away until we know whether he’s gay or straight.”

Kurt sighed. “God, T, I’m not so hard up for action that I’d pounce on him without knowing.”

“You pounced on _me_ without knowing,” Jesse teased, and Kurt blushed.

Tina snorted indelicately. “Oh come on, Jesse, we were all babies then. None of us knew _anything_.” She hummed just loud enough for everyone to hear: _You kissed a girl and you liked it._ Jesse’s face went red at Tina’s reminder of the summer they were twelve, when everyone made out with everyone else, trying to figure out who was gay and who was just into theater. Though, in the end, they’d pretty much all agreed that gay-by-association really was a Thing, and even now they were seen as the queerest bunch of kids to come through Alleghaney. Kurt wished home was like that, too, where it just didn’t matter in the end.

Puck returned to awkward silence, which Jesse broke by asking about audition songs. Kurt couldn’t resist the opening Jesse left him. “What do you think? _I Feel Pretty_? Or _What do the Simple Folk Do?_ Or _I Feel Pretty_?”

Puck burst out laughing. “Dude.” He pointed at Jesse. “You walked right into that one.” He winked at Kurt. “That was perfect.”

“Thanks. A man who knows his ‘80’s movies. We’ll make a killer team at trivia night.”

“So, are there really six shows a session?” Puck flopped onto the unmade bed under Kurt’s. “How does that even happen?”

“Six shows a session, plus Cabaret Troupe,” Tina said. “We’re gonna rule Cabaret Troupe this year, guys.”

“Don’t forget the benefit,” Jesse added. “I heard a rumor that Bert Hanley’s here this summer. I hope he directs.”

“Bert Hanley? He hasn’t had another hit since Children’s Crusade.” Kurt’s heart beat a little faster at the idea of getting to work with the man whose musical had changed his life.

“I thought he was a drunk,” Puck said.

“ _I_ thought he was dead!” Tina’s comment made everyone laugh.

Kurt’s stomach growled, which set off another round of laughter. He pushed himself off his bunk, landing on the floor with a thump. “Come on, it’s still hours till dinner, but the canteen should be open.”

**

“Okay, we need to cast the kids and get this list up.” Cassidy frowned at the five other directors over a pile of audition sheets. “Do you want to start with the juniors or the seniors?”

Liam ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “The juniors, because at least they’re cute.”

“Seniors. Some of them were damn good. And they might be easier because Cassidy has ideas for a few of them.” Nina rifled through Cassidy’s pile and plucked out a form that was covered in chicken-scratch scrawls. “This one. He’s new. He’s a boy, an honest to god straight boy.”

“He just hasn't been here long enough to be corrupted by his year-mates. Cass, you have _got_ to put a stop to the bed-hopping. It sets a bad example. And you _can't_ cast them all in Cabaret Troupe either. Talk about a truly _terrible_ example. God.” Miguel frowned at the paper. “You want him for your drivel, I suppose,” he said to Nina.

“I want him to be my Mercutio. He has the right charisma. And I also want Kurt for my Romeo.” She ignored the snickers that erupted around the table and narrowed her eyes at Miguel. “Shakespeare isn't drivel. At least the kids have a connection to it. Not like . . . whatever obscure mess you're staging this session.”

“Brecht is not obscure or a mess. And your Shakespeare will be drivel if you cast Kurt as Romeo. What's he going to do, play in drag?”

“Oh my god. Seriously, you guys? Kurt is not our only gender non-conforming camper ever, but we _have_ to test him this year. Noah Puckerman isn't our only straight boy, and Mercutio will give us a better feel for his abilities going forward. Nina, your Shakespeare isn't drivel and Miguel’s Brecht is going to be like everything Miguel does. The socialites are going to adore it because telling their friends they saw it makes them edgy and esoteric. As for Cabaret Troupe, I’m in charge and I can cast whoever I want. And I want Kurt and Jesse, and Mike is going to be my choreography assistant.”

Miguel snorted. “What about girls? You can’t populate Cabaret Troupe with boys, even if they can belt girls’ songs too.”

Cassidy ticked off names on her fingers. “Tina. Lilli from Juniors, Amy and Katya from the CITs.”

“And Rachel and Quinn.” Nina nodded at Cassidy. “Right?”

“Wrong.” Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray had been thorns in Cassidy’s side since they’d first come to Allegheny as ten year olds. They hated each other on sight, and there was no way Cassidy was going to let them bring down her Cabaret Troupe. “ _If_ they can behave themselves for the first session then maybe they’ll get solo parts in session two shows. But for now, they’re both ensemble in Romeo and Juliet.”

Nina threw her hands up in the air. “Fine. But you have to be the one to tell them neither of them are singing this session.”

Miguel dropped his head to his hands. “At least there’s a--what did you call him?--an _honest to god straight boy_ to distract them.”

**

Noah wasn’t sure what he had expected, coming to this camp. It felt weird, mostly because even the theater kids back home weren’t quite so intense, but after two days it no longer felt like he’d landed on an alien planet. He counted that as a win, at least.

The days were long. Three major classes in the morning, and then after lunch were rehearsals and more rehearsals. He had Basic Acting first thing, then piano, and right before lunch a group voice lesson. That was where Quinn finally managed to corner him. He’d seen the way she stared at him in the dining hall the first night; he knew what stares like that meant. They meant batted eyelashes, sweet smiles, and the worst cat-fight claws in the world. And he wanted no part of it.

She slipped a folded up piece of notebook paper under his folder of sheet music, and he felt her eyes on him, waiting for him to open it. He was tempted to throw it away, but when class broke for lunch he flicked it open for a quick look.

_My room. Tonight, between dinner and evening rehearsals. We could have a lot of fun this summer, if you want._

 

Noah shook his head, laughing, and wadded up the paper before sending arcing toward the trashcan. He came up short; it bounced off the side, but it was a decent try. Then he ran to catch up with Quinn.

“Hey, Quinn,” he called after her.

She turned, her ponytail swinging. “Yes?”

“I uh. I got your note, but I can’t meet you tonight. I’m running lines with Kurt.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Kurt,” she practically spat. “Kurt has the entire summer to do that brotherly bonding thing he’s so fond of. Like I said, we could have a good summer. I need something to keep me busy since I got absolute _shit_ for parts this session.”

“Yeah, sorry. Answer’s still no. See you in rehearsal.” He hightailed it over to meet his roommates, but he still heard the slur Quinn hurled after him.

 _Fag_.

Well.

He’d expected a lot of things at a performing arts camp, but hate speech wasn’t one of them.

He swung by the room to drop his stuff off before heading down to the dining hall. He’d hoped the room would be empty, so he could fume for a few minutes in private, but Mike was there, sorting through the contents of his dance bag that were emptied all over his bed.

Puck flung his music folder onto his mattress and dropped onto it himself, springs squeaking and bouncing.

“Quinn Fabray called me a fag,” he said softly.

Mike didn’t turn around, but he went still, one jazz shoe dangling from its laces in his hand. “Is that a problem?” he asked, without inflection.

“No. Well. Not a problem for me, but it could be a problem for her because that was a pretty bitchy thing to say to someone you don’t even know.”

“Well, Quinn can be that way, sometimes. Don’t let her get to you.” Puck watched Mike stuff shoes and pants back into his bag. “But you do know she’s not a fair representation of the people here, right? I mean, pretty much nobody cares, at all, who you are.”

“Yeah.” Except. Camp wasn’t anything like the real world, and Puck didn’t know how he could go back to _that_ if he let his guard down at all. He sighed heavily and pushed himself up off his bed. “Are you eating?”

“Already did. I’ve gotta go get warmed up before class this afternoon.” Puck didn’t see much of Mike during the day, since he was a dance major and spent most of his waking hours in the studios instead of the theater.

“Have a good class, then.” He left the room and headed for the dining hall. The worst of the rush appeared to be over, by the time he grabbed a tray and made his way through the hot line, the salad bar, and the drink station. When he plunked his tray down next to Kurt at the end of a table half-full of junior girls, he had two slices of pizza, a heaping bowl of salad, a glass of milk, and two brownies.

“Hungry much?” Kurt said, raising an eyebrow.

Puck saw three pizza crusts on Kurt’s plate, plus a tiny pile of chopped cucumbers swimming in ranch dressing in the bottom of his salad bowl. “Hate eating. You?”

“Stress eating. Who are you hating?”

“That Quinn chick, she’s hardcore, man. What are you stressed about?”

“Romeo, Romeo,” Kurt muttered, poking at his cucumber with a fork. “Nothing new. I want to hear about your close encounters with Quinn. I think she prefers intense to hardcore, but yes. She and Rachel have this rivalry going on. We’ve been betting for years which one of them is going to kill the other.”

Puck chewed on a bite of pizza and washed it down with a gulp of milk before talking. “Well. Apparently she thinks we could have a _good summer_.”

“Of course she does. Do you?”

“Think she and I could have a good summer? Um, no. I’m not- I don’t need _that_ , you know? I just want to focus on my acting.”

Kurt nodded, but the look he gave Puck was disbelieving.

“What?” He felt suddenly defensive in a way he really hadn’t since getting to camp. He didn’t like it; the summer was supposed to be a break from defensiveness.

“I didn’t mean anything,” Kurt said quickly. “It’s just, guys like you never tell me you want to focus on anything besides making my life a living hell.”

“Guys like me.”

“You know, popular guys. Jocks. You’re the sharks and I’m the chum.”

“Wow. Way to stereotype.” Puck stood, pushing his chair back. He was about to bus his tray when Kurt grabbed his wrist. His hand was cool and smooth.

“Wait. Please. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, away from here? I’m pretty much a walking target.”

“For what?” He wasn’t sure why he bothered asking. He knew the answer.

Kurt’s voice was painfully light, like he was trying to poke fun at things. “Oh, you know. Swirlies. Condoms on my locker. Some idiots once nailed lawn furniture to my roof. Pee balloons. And getting the crap beat out of me at junior prom.” He flicked the edge of an envelope with his thumb and forefinger. Puck hadn’t seen it, poking out from under Kurt’s tray.

“The vice principal kicked me out, I got jumped by the same assholes who’ve been tormenting me since middle school, I spent two days in the hospital, and the school board thinks they can make it better by telling me it’s all because I violated the fucking _dress code_?”

“Can I see?” Puck held out his hand for the letter. Kurt handed it over with a grimace. Puck slid the paper out from the mangled envelope and read it out loud.

“Dear Mr. Hummel-

Due to your refusal to wear either a tuxedo or a floor-length gown, the administration of McKinley High School was within its rights to refuse you entry to this year’s junior prom.

We hope you’re having a good summer, and look forward to see you for your senior year in the fall as a member of McKinley High’s class of 2017.

Sincerely,

Michael Miller

President, Lima City School Committee”

Puck took a breath. “Wait, they’re saying they kicked you out because of your hemline?” That was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard, and he said so.

“My hemline is the excuse. They’re all too scared to put the real reason in writing. But I know the real reason, and so do they.”

“Because you’re gay.”

Kurt quirked the corner of his mouth up in a half-smile. “The guys who beat me up preferred _fag_ , but yes.” He stared at Puck, which was more than a little uncomfortable. “Please tell me we’re not the first queer people you’ve been around.” He waved his hand around, gesturing at the entirety of the dining hall.

Puck snorted. “No. I do theater. Even in western Pennsylvania, there are gay kids in theater.” The words stuck in his throat, the ones he hadn’t said to anyone but his own reflection in the bathroom mirror with the water running. _Me. I’m queer too._

 

Instead, he rose to his feet and mock-bowed at Kurt, holding one hand out. “Come, Romeo. To rehearsal we goeth.”

Kurt just rolled his eyes. “God, you’re just as weird as the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Puck said, but swallowed the rest of his response. _I just hide it better. No wonder Ms. DelVecchio said I have a gift for this; my whole life is a performance._

 

**

The first Cabaret Troupe rehearsal happened on Thursday night after dinner; Kurt walked over with Jesse and Mike, and he felt a little bad leaving Puck to fend for himself against the attentions of the junior girls, who followed him around like ducklings begging for him to _sing just one more song, Puck. Pleeeeaaasssseeee?_

 

Cassidy sat cross-legged on the edge of the stage in the black box theater, laptop open on her knees. “Okay,” she said when the group had all assembled. “Who’s seen the Mis-Cast videos?” Everyone looked at each other in puzzlement. “No? Well. It’s Broadway stars performing parts they’d never get cast in, and it’s going to be our theme for the 2016 Cabaret Troupe. Gender-bending, genre-bending, I don’t care. I want everyone to make a list of four numbers you’d love to perform that you’d never get to do traditionally, and then we’ll come back together and strategize.”

Kurt had no trouble at all making his list. He flipped his notebook to a clean page and scribbled his list. For Good from Wicked, At the Ballet from A Chorus Line, Take Me or Leave Me from Rent, and Waiting for Life from Once on this Island.

He could feel Jesse reading over his shoulder. “What?” He asked, not looking up.

“None of that is a surprise,” Jesse said.

“So? What’s on your list?”

“ _In olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking but now God knows, anything goes._ All That Jazz, Cabaret, and Rose’s Turn.”

Kurt snorted. “I think you’re a bigger queen than I am, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Where’s the lie? I am a _huge_ queen. So what.”

“Do you think Cassidy’s idea will go over well among elderly resort-goers?”

“I don’t think anyone cares. My first year in troupe one of the senior girls did Out Tonight, in a bikini and fishnets, complete with the risqué dancing.” Jesse waved a finger at his list, and Kurt’s. “This isn’t pushing much of an envelope.”

“If you say so,” Kurt replied. He didn’t entirely believe Jesse, but he wasn’t about to argue. Jesse had been coming to Allegheny since he was seven, and even though Kurt had been coming since he was nine, those two extra years gave Jesse a level of experience and knowledge that Kurt was never going to have when it came to the way things at camp were done.

“Okay, people,” Cassidy said, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Let’s focus. Everyone have four songs? Great. Let’s give this a try. Who’s up first?”

Jesse jumped up, strode confidently to the middle of the stage. “My tap shoes are back in my room,” he said, “so just imagine.”

Kurt sighed, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

**

Something woke Puck, what felt like seconds after everyone got back from their first Cabaret Troupe performance. The room was still and mostly dark, but there was a sliver of light peeking out from the bathroom. In the shadows, he could see Jesse and Mike, lumps under their blankets. “Kurt?” He whispered.

No response, just the sounds of soft crying under slightly louder running water. Puck got up, padding over to the door. He knocked softly. “Kurt?”

The water shut off. “I’m okay,” Kurt called, sounding weak and choked.

“Uh huh.”

“Go back to bed, Puck. I’m fine.”

The water turned back on before Puck could respond. He went back to bed but didn’t sleep; he waited what felt like an hour before Kurt emerged from the bathroom, hair wet and, even in the dark, eyes visibly shadowed. Puck grabbed his wrist as he passed on his way to climb up to his bunk. “Don’t lie and tell me you’re okay. Did you eat something bad?”

Kurt sat on the edge of Puck’s bed. “I get headaches,” he whispered. “I haven’t had one in a while. I don’t think I’ve ever had one at camp. My dad said that my mom used to get them, too. Migraines. They make me sick to my stomach. Maybe I’m nervous about the show.”

Puck laughed, softly. “Have you ever been nervous about a show in your life?”

“My first one here, yeah. I played Oliver.”

“Come on. You could play Romeo in your sleep.”

Kurt sighed. “This is probably going to be my only chance, you know.”

“Only chance for what?”

“How often does a guy like me get to play Romeo? I’m more likely to play a drag queen in _Kinky Boots_. The whacky gay neighbor or best friend.”

“That’s not true,” Puck insisted. “You’re more than a niche actor. And don’t pull that whacky gay neighbor thing, there are so many more parts than that and you know it.” He felt Kurt’s body begin to slump, so he stretched out and pulled Kurt down next to him. It was a tight fit on the twin mattress, but Puck was used to accommodating his baby sister when she had nightmares. He just rolled onto his side with his back to the wall.

Kurt closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not talk about this now? My brain is too fuzzy. I just need to sleep until morning, then I can go get my meds from the nurse.”

Puck reached a tentative hand out and rested it on Kurt’s hair, still damp from his shower. “Is this okay? Like, would it help if I rubbed your head?”

“Yeah.” Kurt didn’t move, just relaxed under Puck’s touch.

When Puck woke up with the bell in the morning, Kurt was gone and the space he’d occupied in Puck’s bed was long cold.

**

Kurt had spent the day sleeping off both the headache and the side effects of his medication in the dark and quiet of the nurses’ office with an ice pack on the back of his neck to hopefully prevent a rebound headache.

He just needed to get through the show; then there would be a full two days to relax before the insanity began again. But right now he couldn’t even manage to get his makeup on, so things weren’t looking good in that respect.

He lifted the eyeliner again, but couldn’t stop his hand from shaking. “Fuck,” he said with a sigh. “Come on, Kurt. Get it together.”

“Hey.” He looked up at Puck, half-dressed in tights and and a tank top, Mercutio’s tunic in one hand and his shoes in the other. “You okay? Missed you today. Feeling better?”

“My head isn’t throbbing and I can see and kind of think, so that’s something.”

“Why are you staring like that eyeliner is going to bite you?”

“Because I can’t fucking get my hand to stop shaking. I can’t-- I don’t think I-- I can’t _do_ this.”

Puck reached out and covered Kurt’s shaking hand with his own, slid the eyeliner out. “Do you trust me?” “Yes.” “Good. Now, close your eyes and let me help.”

He held it together. In the end he wasn’t sure how. It wasn’t his best performance, but he didn’t completely tank it either, even though he could hardly remember his lines.

The cacophony of backstage didn't help the leftover thudding at the base of his skull, so he scrubbed his face clean as quickly as he could manage, hung his costume carefully, and headed straight for the cool, dark, and silent confines of the long-neglected black box theater in the basement of the main building.

The common areas of camp were swarming with parents, which made him miss his mom more than usual and wish his dad had been able to get away from the garage for a long weekend. _Maybe at the end of the summer, since I'll be coming out to pick you up anyway,_ he'd said when Kurt had invited him. He understood, he really did, but that didn't make it any easier to be around other kids and their families. He closed his eyes, blessing the silence. So what if a few tears squeezed between his lashes; he had just managed a leading role and after effects from pain and medication. He was allowed a little self pity.

The door squeaked, letting in a bright flash of light and echoes of happy, laughing people. “Kurt?”

“Puck.” He didn't open his eyes.

“I was looking for you. Tina said this is where you come, sometimes, to get away?”

“I hate Tina right now.”

“Don't. I pushed her a little. I wanted to make sure you were okay, after . . . You know, the headache.”

“Thank you. I'm fine, really.” _Except._ A sniffle betrayed him. “Fuck. Sorry.” He heard and felt Puck settle into the rickety seat next to him.

“Don't be. Pain’s a fucking bitch. I broke my ankle last summer, playing football? That was awful.”

Kurt wanted to change the subject. “Is your family here?” _Oh, yeah, because family is less likely to make you a teary mess. God, Kurt._

“Nah.” Puck waved it off like it was nothing. “My Ma is too busy, my sister is too little. I, um. I have a scholarship, you know. To come here? My Ma can't afford the time off or the gas money to get here.”

“What about your dad?”

“What about him? He left the week my sister was born. He came to my bar mitzvah six months later, and that was the last time we heard from him. Asshole. What about your folks? Will they come to see you at all?”

“Maybe at the end of the summer. It's just me and my dad, now. My mom died when I was eight.” He'd said it so many times, over the years, that the words didn't mean much anymore. The memories of those months were seared into his brain, but he could separate word from memory pretty well, now; that was a good thing, because he'd already cried enough. He felt Puck start to pull in a breath, and he knew what was coming next. “Don't!” he said, before Puck could get the words out. “I don't need your sympathy.”

“I wasn't going to do that. Man, you think I don't know how it is? The way people look at you, whisper behind your back, feel fucking sorry for you for something that you can't control? It's the worst.”

“The _fucking_ worst,” Kurt whispered, and Puck laughed.

“Your dad, he's cool with you?”

“With what?”

“Being . . . You.”

Kurt couldn't help it, he laughed out loud, huge gulping guffaws. “You can say it, it won't turn you,” he said finally when he'd caught his breath.

“Fuck you,” Puck said with a frown. “I _know_ that, I just thought, maybe. I dunno. Maybe you're tired of that being the most important thing other people think about you.”

Kurt shrugged. “It doesn't bother me. Well. Curiosity doesn't, and honest questions or evaluation of me and my abilities. But hatred and stereotyping and all that _shit_ just makes me tired. I mean, I'm pretty sure that to most of the kids at school I'm always going to be a boy in a dress.”

Puck snorted. “How long have you been waiting to use that line? Is this where I tell you you're not a boy in a dress, you're a drag princess?”

“You can tell me anything you want, I won't complain,” Kurt said, his voice light and more flirty than he'd intended. He waited for backlash, for Puck to stand up and walk away, or to say something hateful like all the kids at school did. But nothing came, no words or motion. Just silence, and it felt safe in a way Kurt didn't realize he'd missed.

**Session 2**

By the time Kurt got his turn at the lone pay phone in the lobby of the main building, his dad was already going to be at the garage. He dialed with shaking fingers and waited through four entire rings before anyone answered.

“Good morning, this is Hummel Tires and Lube, Jimmy speaking. How may I help you?” Jimmy had been his dad's longest employee. He'd talked Kurt through his first oil change ages ago. He was like an uncle to Kurt.

“Jimmy, hey.”

“Kurt! How's camp? Your dad said you played Romeo. Good on ya, kid. What're you doing this session?”

Kurt took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell my dad first, but just don't spoil the surprise, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I got Emcee in Cabaret.”

Jimmy hummed into the phone, a slightly out of tune rendition of the overture, and Kurt heard his dad in the background. _Jeez, J, who’re you singing to? Wait. Give me the--_

“Kurt? Cabaret? They really gave you the Emcee?”

Kurt laughed at his father’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, Dad. They really did.” He glanced around, making sure there was enough room between him and the rest of the line, and lowered his voice. “You'll come and see me, right? Please?”

Silence echoed on the line. “Dad? You'll come and see me?” Kurt dug the toe of his sneaker into the space where the awful burnt orange carpet was curling away from the wall.

“Ah, kiddo, I'll have to see. I'll need to get someone to watch the shop, you know how it is.”

Kurt didn't want to beg, but sometimes he felt like his dad was okay with him being queer and being an actor as long as it was at a distance. “Dad. Do you know what a part like this right after _Romeo and Juliet_ means? This means Cassidy thinks I'm able to play diverse parts. This is what I've been working for. _This_ summer is _the_ summer. Please. Just say you'll try, we have three weeks to figure it out.”

His dad let out a sigh. Kurt could hear noise in the background, the guys talking while they worked. “I gotta go, Kurt. Call me tomorrow and we'll talk more?”

“Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow. Love you, Dad.”

“You, too, kid.”

Kurt dropped the receiver back onto its cradle and rested his head against the phone, eyes closed against an onslaught of tears. “Come _on_ , some of us are _waiting_!” The little girl behind him, no older than nine, had her hands on her hips and was tapping one foot on the floor. “You're not the only one having drama! I didn't even get a real _part_ this session. And whoever heard of turning _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ into a musical, anyway? Dancing fairy? I didn't try out for the new revival of _Annie_ on Broadway because I wanted to come here, and all I get is a _dancing fairy?_ ”

Kurt rolled his still slightly teary eyes and walked away; he didn't have energy for baby divas on his best days. He just wanted to be with his friends and hash out the finer points of the session’s casting; he'd heard a rumor that Rachel had actually yanked a hunk of Quinn’s hair out when the cast lists had gone up.

The halls were crowded, in the dorm, and he tried not to listen to the whispers as he passed younger campers, but he did learn more about the Quinn and Rachel free for all and that junior camp was taking bets about whether Puck was going to give in and hook up with Quinn. His brain was spinning by the time he opened the door to his room.

Tina sat up, trying to adjust her shirt, and hit her elbow hard on the wall. Mike startled, shifted the other way, and rolled right off the bed, hitting the floor with a thunk.

“Well,” Kurt said, turning slightly red out of sympathy to both his friends. “I guess I really should be more worried about you two, and not so much about whether Quinn and Puck are going to hook up.”

“This is so not how we meant to tell you,” Mike said from the floor, one arm over his face.

“Wait. Puck and Quinn are hooking up? Since when?”

“Since never,” Puck said from behind Kurt. “Since when have you two been doing the nasty?”

“Oh my god, seriously? This is _not_ happening.” Mike groaned. “ _So_ embarrassed.”

“ _You’re_ embarrassed? _I_ can't get my bra back on right.” Tina shot a look at Puck. “And we're not having sex, we’re just . . .”

“Enjoying each other's company?” Kurt couldn't believe he got the words out with a straight face.

“Why is everyone standing in the doorway?” Jesse peered into the room. “Why is Mike on the floor? Oh, hey, Tina, do you want some help putting your boobs away?”

“Oh my _GOD_ ,” Tina groaned, throwing herself facedown on Mike’s bed. “I hate all of you. All. Of. You.”

Kurt couldn't help it; he sat down on the floor by Mike’s feet and laughed and laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

And then he laughed some more. It didn't erase the sting of the talk with his dad, but for a little while at least, it helped.

**

Friday night, Puck tagged along to Cabaret Troupe’s early dinner, and Kurt and Jesse grilled him about how things were going in _Les Miserables_.

“It's fine,” he said, digging into his fruit salad with false gusto. It _was_ fine, except it wasn't. It was harder than _Romeo and Juliet_ , way more moving parts and a thousand times more drama.

“No lies at this table,” Jesse said. “We've all been there.”

“Been where? Stuck in the chorus, getting killed in the battle? Ignored?”

Jesse shook his head. “You're not being ignored. This is your first year. You had a good part first session, and now they're testing you in a musical. The thing about ensemble work is that you have to be able to blend. Not just your voice, but you have to be able to mask the charisma that you'd normally show in a featured role. It's a different kind of acting, but I think it's harder than being a star.”

Puck pushed his tray away, suddenly not very hungry. “I didn’t expect that I was going to be a star,” he said carefully. “I mean, I only did my first play this year, but my teacher thought I could benefit from _intensive professional training and expectations_. I guess I keep getting hung up on that, it being my first year. What if I'm too late? What if I can't learn what I need in time to be successful?”

“Why are you worried? You're really good, Puck.” Kurt scraped the last bit of pudding out of his bowl and set the spoon clattering to his tray.

“God, I thought you at least would understand, Kurt. I can't just be _good_ ; good isn't going to get me more than a high school diploma and a minimum wage job. I need to get a scholarship and show my sister that we can be more, do better.”

“You’re here. You’re putting in the work, you’re learning. _That’s_ the most important thing, right now.” Jesse patted Puck on his forearm. “Don’t worry. If you _really_ want to go into musical theater, then you need to add a dance class to your schedule next session.”

Puck shook his head. “Nah, I really just like acting. I could take or leave the rest of it.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Then why are you so worked up about _Les Miz_?”

“Why are you so worked up about your dad not coming to see you in _Cabaret_?” The words were out before Puck realized it, the secret Kurt had told him later the afternoon they all stumbled in on Tina and Mike. “Oh, shit, Kurt, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, wanting to apologize before the tension got too high. But Kurt was already scraping his chair back and grabbing the edges of his tray.

“I thought you got it, but clearly you’re too self absorbed to to worry or care about anyone but yourself. Fuck you, Noah Puckerman.”

Mike got up to chase after Kurt, and Jesse fixed Puck with a hard stare. “He doesn’t trust easily.”

“You think I don’t know that? I screwed up.”

“Yeah. You did. And you have to figure out how to fix it.”

After the dining hall was empty, Cabaret Troupe headed off in their matching jazz pants and t-shirts to the camp minivan, Puck just dropped his head into his hands. He didn’t really understand what had just happened. Everything turned so fast; he hadn’t meant it, he just didn’t understand why Kurt had been so stand-offish in the first place.

He was interrupted by Quinn settling in on one side of him. “I see your friends have left you all alone. The offer’s still on the table, if you want. Even if it’s just for the night.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Puck stood up, took his tray, and bussed it. Quinn caught up with him outside.

“You’re so tense. Come on, let me loosen you up a little. I know all the best places to go where we won’t get found out.”

Puck knew he was making a mistake. Knew that everyone would hate him for it, but besides acting sex was the only thing that got him out of his stupid, annoying, imperfect brain. He took Quinn’s hand and followed her, and pointedly ignored the churning in his stomach that told him he might be making the worst decision of his summer.

The waterfront was quiet, the water flat shining perfection. “The boathouse is the best place, especially this time of day,” Quinn told him, stripping off her tee shirt to reveal a skimpy bikini top tied around her neck and back with strings. Puck felt like he was watching the entire thing from outside his body, the way Quinn’s hand reached up to untie the bikini, his own awkward stumbling away into the bushes, the frantic pleading of his voice. _I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t._ Rehearsal was the easy excuse, the accepted one, the one better than the echoes of unexpressed longing in his heart. It was easier than blurting his entire backlog of secrets to a half-dressed girl behind the boathouse.

He left her there and ran the entire way back up to his room to grab his script before heading to rehearsal. After singing and dancing his ass off, after a snack from the canteen, he went back to the empty silence of his room. The others wouldn’t be back until after lights out, they never were on performance nights. Any other time, the solitude wouldn’t be a problem; there was little enough of it at home, but his brain tried to eat itself by running the whole night, from dinner to Quinn, on a repeating loop. For the first time since arriving, he was second guessing whether he’d even done the right thing in coming to camp in the first place.

He fell asleep to his own pleading words echoing in his ears.

**

Kurt was never sure which was worse, the ride _to_ a performance when he was full of nerves, or the ride home when the whole van stank of makeup and hairspray and shoes. He wrapped his camp hoodie around himself and sunk deeper into his seat, trying to watch the trees go by in the dark, but everything was shadow.

“You killed it tonight,” Jesse said, appearing in the aisle above Kurt’s head. “Can I sit?”

Kurt shrugged and motioned for Jesse to take the other half of the seat. “Sit wherever you want, I’m just not the best company right now.”

“You could have told me, you know. About your dad. He really said he wouldn’t come?”

“He said he wasn't sure, it's too much work to find someone to watch the shop, blah blah blah, the same old thing he says every year. Sometimes I think he just doesn’t like the reality of me staring him too hard in the face. Like, acting is okay but the minute my acting becomes something else that’s gay about me then he doesn’t want to hear it?”

“At least he hears you at all, though,” Jesse said. Kurt sometimes forgot that, despite how out Jesse was at camp, at home his father required him to stay closeted.

“I really don’t know how you do it,” Kurt said, shifting so that he was curled toward Jesse instead of the window. “I mean, that must be harder than all the shit kids at school do to me. How come you haven’t suffocated yet?”

Jesse slouched down so they were almost in their own little cave. “Because I’m a brilliant actor, _dahling._ And I have this place, and whatever the future holds. I don’t think I told you, I’m applying to UCLA. I’ve talked to their director a few times, I’m pretty sure it’s a done deal. In a year I’ll be out of their hair and they can pretend like they never had me, if that’s what they want.”

Kurt wanted to tell Jesse he was sure that wasn't what his parents wanted, but the words never came. Instead, he tried to talk out why Puck’s carelessness has hurt so much. “I trusted him,” he said finally.

“You’re crushing on him. There’s a difference.”

“I’m not crushing on him.” Kurt denied it. Of course he did, because Puck was straight and Kurt had ruined more than one good friendship with too-enthusiastic crushes.

“You think I don’t know what Kurt Hummel in full crush looks like? Please, honey, there’s too much between us for me to believe _that_ lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” Kurt insisted, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. “Well. It’s not all a lie. We’re both on scholarship,” Kurt said, finally, as if that explained everything. Except to Jesse, who had met him the summer after his mother died and had gotten to know him best in the years when medical and funeral bills overwhelmed his dad, that explained almost everything.

“You trust him because you guys are a lot alike. That’s not a crime.”

“Then why did he act like that? God, boys are _so_ stupid.”

“You need to ask him about that. I might play a great relationship counselor, but what does that get me without an actual relationship?”

Kurt leaned his shoulder against Jesse’s. Physicality between them had always been easy, and sometimes it helped them both to come down after a show. “This was supposed to be a fun and easy summer. Instead we’re crying our makeup off in the stupid minivan,” Kurt said, sniffling, and wiping tears away with the cuff of his sweatshirt.

“Eh, sometimes a good cry is just the thing. But don’t do that, you’ll rub all your makeup off _and_ ruin your sweatshirt. Here,” Jesse dug in his dance bag and pulled out a travel packet of tissues. “Use these.”

Kurt took one and blew his nose indelicately.

“Classy,” Jesse said, his grin reflected in lamplight and reflection. “Now, come here.” He pulled Kurt against him, humming the soft lullaby Kurt had sung to _him_ when they were homesick little boys.

They both slept while the minivan twisted and turned on the road back to camp.

**

“I owe you an apology.” Kurt sat next to where Puck was perched, in the middle of the brick wall that edged the courtyard outside the main building, guitar on his lap and fingers working through what sounded like an intricate pattern. “Jesse read me his version of the riot act last night.”

Puck nodded. “You guys are tight.”

“We’ve been friends forever. He’s not always easy, but neither am I. I really am sorry for going off on you like that. You are talented, and Jesse’s right; being here is exactly what you need to get where you want to go. Your sister is lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t look up, just kept strumming, until the chords coalesced into something Kurt recognized.

“Oh! Children’s Crusade! It changed my life.”

“Mine, too,” Puck said, nodding along to the beat. “I only tried out because of my stupid ankle, I couldn't play football. But the parts of the kids were so realistic, and the music was so good.”

Kurt hummed along, and soon Tina and Mike, among others, had joined them. The courtyard echoed with voices singing, song after song, the entirety of Bert Hanley’s magnum opus. Kurt loved moments like that,when he felt like a real part of the larger camp community.

The door from the canteen flew open and Bert Hanley made his unsteady way across the courtyard. “Who are you people?,” he asked, eyes darting and crazy. “What planet did you beam down from? I’m serious. If I can teach you one thing, which is supposed to be my job here, it would be that you should all just go home. Bob Fosse is dead. Michael Bennet is dead. Time’s Square is a theme park now. I hate to be the Grinch, but it’s not normal, what goes on up here. Someone’s got to warn you. Teenage fag hags become adult fag hags. Straight boys are always gonna be straight, you can't turn ‘em just because you need to be loved. The foundation being laid here will not help you in the real word. It’s going to lead to waitressing jobs and bitterness and the obsessive, pointless collecting of out of print original cast albums.”

“I think Tina’s the only straight person here,” Puck said, waggling his finger.

Bert ran a hand over his balding head. “Oh, Come _on_ , bisexuality is an excuse all the boys use when they don't want to be stereotyped as a drama fag. Or when they want to hold hands with a girl and pretend to be normal.”

Tina was indignant. “Hey, I never said I was straight!”

Kurt turned on Bert, rage a tight ball in his chest. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be enlightened you really are a biphobic asshole, aren't you?” He paused, his brain catching up with his ears. He stared at Puck. “Wait. What?”

“You never asked,” Puck answered.

Kurt nodded, thinking. “Actually, that makes a lot of sense. Why do you look so disappointed?”

Puck set his guitar aside. “I guess I just thought the first time I told anyone, it would kind of be a bigger deal.”

Mike snorted. “Seriously? Oh honey, _please._ Have you not already been here for four weeks? I think the bigger shock would have been if you really were as straight as the counselors think you are.”

Bert threw his hands up into the air. “I give up. You all are the freakiest kids I've ever met.” He stomped back to the canteen, slamming the door behind him for, Kurt figured, dramatic effect.

“You’re the freak,” Puck called, and everyone burst out laughing. Everyone but Quinn, who was watching from outside the canteen.

“You act like you’re such a big stud,” Quinn said, her voice dripping with scorn and her gaze focused solely on Puck. “But I guess that explains why you wouldn't put out last night. You really are a fag.” She spat the word like it was dirty.

Kurt wasn’t a stranger to the word, but hearing it twisted up from Quinn’s mouth broke something inside of him. He stormed across the courtyard, pulling up right in Quinn’s space and face. “You. Are. A. Bitch,” he said carefully. “And you’re a no-talent mean girl who thinks everything should be handed to you because you’ve never had to work for anything in your entire pampered life. Just leave everyone alone.”

Quinn’s face broke, but only barely. Kurt couldn’t even feel sorry for her; it was a mask, an act, more evidence that there was nothing real about her. He backed away, headed back to his friends.

**

The applause rang in Kurt’s ears while he worked to remove the smeared remnants of his white makeup. He’d worked really hard, and he knew it was the best performance he’d given in years. Everyone else had sped off, anxious to celebrate with friends and family who’d made the trip, but Kurt took his time. He was beyond nervous about seeing his dad, afraid that he’d been _too_ provocative, too out there, for his father’s comfort.

He didn’t hear the door squeak open, but he looked up when motion beside him turned into Puck, settling into the empty chair next to him.

“Hey.” Puck grabbed Kurt’s arm. “I wish I’d gotten to see it, I hear you were spectacular.” He was still in his costume from his own dress rehearsal. “Apparently there was a play by play relay.”

“It felt good, at least. The real verdict is yet to come.”

“You’re telling me Cassidy wasn’t all up in here as soon as the curtain dropped?”

“Not Cassidy. My _dad_. He actually came.” He hadn’t told anyone, and even now the words got stuck in his throat. “My dad came to see me.”

Puck reached over and grabbed Kurt into a hard hug. “I’m so happy for you, Kurt. That’s awesome.” Kurt hugged back, and before he really knew he was doing it, he turned his head and kissed Puck briefly on his lips.

“Oh.” Puck blinked and sat back in his chair. “Oh.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “I don’t know why I did that, that was _really_ stupid.”

“No.” Puck shook his head as if to clear it. “No, that wasn’t stupid. It was- it was _nice.”_

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Puck grinned.

“Good.” Kurt had never been so grateful for stage makeup before; it masked the blush burning his cheeks. “Let me finish up here, and then you can come with me if you want to meet him. He’s really not a bad guy, I just don’t think he knows what to do with me half the time.” Oh, God, why was he nervous? He needed to stop talking before he embarrassed himself.

Puck squeezed his hand one more time. “I’d love to meet him.”

**

Burt Hummel had been sending his kid to this place for years, but he hadn’t been to see a performance since Kurt’s first year, when he’d played Oliver. He heard the stories, of course, and tried his best to keep up with the things Kurt enjoyed. The older musicals were easy, he and Lizzie had watched them all when they were newly married and too poor to even rent a video, and watched them all again during the long months she’d been on bed rest with Kurt. Frankly, he _loved_ the idea of his kid in _Cabaret_ , but he most decidedly didn’t love the idea of intruding on Kurt’s most special place; he knew things were different, that _Kurt_ was different, there, and he really hadn’t wanted Kurt to feel like he had to hide anything away at camp. He already had enough of that to deal with at home. But Kurt had practically cried on the phone about it, and Jimmy, who loved Kurt like his own kid, had promised to man the shop for a full four days so that Burt could drive out, see the show, _and_ spend all of visiting weekend with Kurt. _It’s important, Burt. He’s gonna be gone to college before you know it. This is huge for him and he wants to share it with you._

So Burt had gone, and he’d sat in the theater with all these people, and he’d watched his boy - _his boy!_ \- own that stage. _That_ was the Kurt he knew existed under those crazy clothes and stand-offish attitude.

He couldn’t wait to tell him how amazing he’d been, how proud he was; he waited and waited until all the other kids and parents had left the lobby, waited another twenty minutes before Kurt strode out from backstage, face scrubbed clean, looking everything like his son and nothing like the _man_ he’d been onstage not even an hour before.

His son, shyly holding the hand of another boy.

Burt straightened, brushing his hands off on his dress pants. He wasn't really ready to meet a boyfriend, but if it was time for that then he'd deal with it.

**Session 3**

Kurt plunked his dinner tray onto the table and dropped into the seat next to Puck with a thud. “ _Another_ straight play? What did I ever do to Cassidy?”

Mike looked up from his tater tots. “ _The Normal Heart_ is a great show, and you'll learn a _lot_ from Miguel. And besides, it's a great idea for the benefit. Since, you know,” he waved his hand in the air. “Bert Hanley and his freak out.”

“Bert Hanley can kiss my ass,” Kurt said. “And that's easy for you to say, mister star of the dance department. There's no such thing as a bad part in the dance department.”

“Tommy Boatwright isn't a bad part,” Jesse said. “Have you actually read the play? He’s a pivotal character.”

“I've seen the movie.”

Jesse scoffed. “The movie was pretty good, but there was a lot more there than in the play. I'm so excited, this is going to be the best benefit in years.”

**

“No.” Miguel stood up from his seat and paced in front of the stage. “No, no, no. Where is the agony, the pain? None of you are connecting with your inner turmoil.”

“We’re doing the best we can,” Jesse said from the back of the auditorium.

“Your best isn't good enough. I need you all to access the deepest pain you have. And don't lie to me and tell me your lives are perfect. This might be 2016, but I've never met queer little boys with perfect lives.”

“ _That’s_ harsh.”

Miguel turned on Jesse, finger waving. “Don't try convincing me that everyone back home in your nowhere town loves you. Don't try telling me that being gay is _wonderful_ and you're a special snowflake. We all know what they do to us out there. It's no better now than it was when Larry Kramer wrote this play. We’re still _dying_ out there, and we all know it.” He gestured to the empty theater. “We need to make the rest of them see it.”

“But how?” Simon’s voice was soft, and Kurt's heart almost broke in half. He was the youngest in their cast, only just 12, but like so many boys at Allegheny already secure in who he was. “We’re just kids.”

Miguel motioned for everyone to join him onstage. They sat, cross-legged and knees touching, in a circle. “Who here hasn't felt safe at home or school?”

Everyone raised their hands, including Puck _and_ their lone female cast member, Rhea. “This is my only safe space,” Simon whispered, and there were nods and murmurs of understanding.

“Okay. So. Imagine that you've got not just one secret, but two. Imagine that the second secret threatens the first. What would it feel like to take that secret, that most important truth about yourself, and either have to die with it or put it out there for everyone whether you want to or not. That's what AIDS did to our community. It was like the worst kind of outing.”

Kurt watched out of the corner of his eye as Puck raised a cautious hand. “Did you know anyone who had it?” he asked Miguel.

Miguel had a reputation around camp for being unforgiving and hard, but his whole body went soft and when he smiled Kurt saw tears in his eyes. “Yes. I was this skinny little Cuban kid, thought I was a big man sneaking into the clubs back home in Miami. Lots of my friends got taken advantage of. They're all gone, now. But I got lucky, I found my fairy godfathers.” He shook his head. “They taught me about being safe, before they died. I could have ended up like my friends, but I'm really fucking lucky.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said.

“Don't be sorry. Be _angry_. _I’m_ angry as hell. It was supposed to be better for all of you. Our hell was supposed to make it better for you kids. But we’re still dying. Schools aren’t safe, our clubs aren’t safe. I want to see _your_ anger on that stage, _your_ pain, every terrible awful thing that’s happened to you, every hateful word, all the times you wished you could just disappear. Bring _that_ to rehearsal tomorrow.”

“But how?” Puck shifted a little closer into Kurt’s space, and Kurt leaned back toward him, though they didn’t touch.

“Talk. Just talk to each other about everything.”

**

Secrets are funny things. No matter how much you like to think you can avoid them, can bury them, can pretend that they have no power over you, they’re always there in the dark parts of your brain and heart and soul. Boys with secrets are nothing new, but boys _sharing_ those secrets _is_.

All over camp, the night after Miguel issued his challenge, secrets were pouring out, flooding over, being released into the void.

Simon, still basically a baby, rubbed a thumb over the still-healing scars on his arms and handed his razor blades over to Jesse. Jesse showed Simon his own scars, most pale and the most recent still slightly pink. _It’s okay, you’re never alone here. We all understand. You are perfect exactly as you are._

Asher and Grant, the boys playing Ned and Felix, sat back to back in the empty courtyard, looking at the stars and gripping each other’s hands. _I’m afraid to go home_ , Asher whispered in the direction of Orion. Grant tapped half-forgotten Morse Code against Asher’s knuckles. _I. Love. You._

Puck climbed the ladder to Kurt’s bed, curled around Kurt’s sleep-warm body. _I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve fucked up so badly, I let these strangers take my baby. Yeah, I have a baby, best and worst thing I’ve ever done. I lie to everyone. Why do you even like me?_

Kurt rubbed at his eyes, pressed his forehead to Puck’s. _I think about running away, not because I hate my dad or anything, I just wonder what it would feel like to be invisible, to just disappear. Why do_ you _like_ me _? I’m uptight and bitchy and such a queen, and you’re mister three sport athlete._

 _I like you because you’re you._ Puck pulled the covers up over both of their shoulders.

 _And I like you because you’re you_. Kurt closed his eyes, drifted closer back toward sleep, toward dreams of his mother and his future and the boy in his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> There could be more here, but in light of the current state of our world, it felt better to me to leave it here, with the promise of romance to come. Thanks for reading.


End file.
